Homeward Bound
by Epsarrow
Summary: Slight AU (check inside for more details) where TC returns home with Syd and tries to patch things up with everyone left behind while dealing with the aftereffects of his injuries. Contains reasonable whump for what occurred in the beginning of season 4 (spoilers!), friendship and general Night Shift character relationships!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Author's Note: This story basically starts near the end of Season 4, episode 2 (Off the Rails). It is a slight AU, however: the events in Syria take place before the simultaneous events back home (in this story), which means the events of the wildfire and Mac have not happened yet, which also means Topher did not get into an accident and die. I wanted Topher alive for this story.

Summary: Instead of staying in Syria TC decides to leave with Syd and go home. Injured and exhausted, the two have quite a story to tell to those at home. Naturally, contains some TC whump, a little angst, and general team bonding. May continue on as an AU from there!

Homeward Bound

* * *

In a way, it felt good to be going home. His body was simply exhausted. Days of running around, trying to survive, dehydration had taken its toll. Now that their lives were no longer in danger he could practically feel his body shifting from defensive mode to restful, the adrenaline and endorphines that had been pumping through his veins stopping. Which meant all the aches and pains were returning, and as the chopper lifted off, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been pumped full of antibiotics before they had released him, but he had refused painkillers mainly out of stubbornness. His wounds had been treated minimally, enough to stop the bleeding and make sure he wasn't in imminent danger of a brain bleed, since he wanted to make it back on the monthly transport.

"You okay?" Syd asked, noticing his shifting, probably well aware he had not taken anything for the pain.

"I think I'm finally ready to go home," he said, honestly. He wasn't sure, when he had been kicked out of the army after Afghanistan, that he had been ready to come home. And perhaps his actions preceding this trip had been evidence of that. But now he just wanted to go home, see his friends, maybe talk to and apologize to Drew after the way things had gone down before he left. He wasn't so sure about that part.

He managed to doze off for a bit, resting his pounding head and getting some much needed sleep. It wouldn't do much good for him to get home and immediately pass out from exhaustion. It was pain in his shoulder that woke him as the helicopter jolted when it landed, jerking him awake. The bullet wound seemed to be sizzling in its pain, hot and swollen. Not wanting to be tied up too long on the operations base he put on his best poker face and exited the helicopter, carefully avoiding any motion that would jar the shoulder. A few people glanced at them, two people covered in dust and in his case, a little dried blood, before looking back at what they were doing.

"So I guess we're not going to be waiting around," Syd said from behind him. He looked back, realizing he had been determinedly heading straight towards the airport base so he could leave as soon as there was a flight available.

"You don't have to join me right away if you don't want to," he said, realizing his voice sounded slightly hoarse. "I've just got some stuff to take care of at home... the sooner I get there, the better," he added. A moment later he realized she had been teasing him when she started to laugh.

"I want to get out of here as soon as possible," she said. "But I think you should sit down for a bit before you drop."

TC wasn't aware that his face was pale and sweaty but he had been feeling a little shaky. "I'm just tired," he said. It wasn't a total lie. He was still exhausted, but the pain that was burning a trail down his arm from his shoulder and raking at his chest was starting to eat at him. She clearly didn't believe him and merely raised an eyebrow, but he turned and kept walking. At the very least they'd get under the shelter of a tent and the heat would stop baking his skin.

By the time he got there he decided perhaps he should have taken Syd's advice. His head was spinning, ears ringing, and his vision was tunneling down into a very small area. Fortunately Syd had grabbed his arm and directed him into a nearby chair, and he sat there, half dozing, while she got some information about getting to a nearby civilian airport that could get them to Texas.

"Hey." He flinched awake, realizing he had actually fallen asleep again. For a moment he had forgotten where he was, and simply looked confused, and she must have seen it. "We're at a military base in Turkey. They're sending some troops home to Texas in the morning, we got here at the right time," she added when his frazzled brain cells kicked in and began to function again. He felt a hint of relief, glad they didn't have to wait a week, or longer, before they could find a flight home.

"That's good," he said, trying to break free from the drowsiness. Now they just had to wait for morning, and the sun was barely just starting to set. He'd get some sleep at least, and without any interest in moving he would be perfectly happy to sleep in this chair. Stiff neck or not.

"There are some spare cots over there," Syd interrupted his plan, staring at him with a look that suggested he didn't argue. "It would be far more comfortable, wouldn't it?"

He raised his good shoulder in a half a shrug as he rose from his chair, trying to stand without wobbling. He was only half successful - he stood, but he still swayed slightly. Fatigue, injuries, a possible concussion from at least one of his head blows. He just wanted to lay down and rest, at least for a little while, and hopefully feel better in the morning. He followed Syd, and making no effort to undress - not that his shoulder would have allowed him anyway - he simply lay down and fell asleep.

When morning came, all too soon, it brought with it the sounds of many boots marching, which is what pulled him awake. Fortunately the pain in his shoulder had dulled into a minor ache, although it would eventually wake back up into its full blast once he started to move. For awhile he simply lay there, listening, remembering. He was once a soldier too, although he hadn't been much of a marcher, always finding it to be a rather tedious thing. Would he have been stuck on a tour to Syria if he hadn't been kicked out of the army? He wondered how his life would have played out that way. He may or may not have been called into another tour, depending on the orders. But had he stayed, he wondered just how many patients would not be alive now. And that thought made all his worries about his life as a Ranger vanish. Saving people was more than enough.

"Coffee?" Syd asked.

He opened his eyes, looking up. She was already up and probably had been for awhile. He could see the bruises on the side of her face from the initial blast at the refugee site. His own face felt hot on one side from the swelling and pain, but it could be worse.

"Yeah, sure," he said, sitting up carefully. As suspected, his shoulder flared up with pain.

"I could get you some painkillers," she suggested after his failed attempt to hide the obvious pain he was in. Not just his shoulder now, but his abdominal region from where the soldiers had struck him during the struggle, and a few more bruises from the blasts and subsequent rubble.

"I need a clear head," he responded stubbornly, forcing himself to stand even as the stiffness in his legs tried to stop him.

"For what? You're going to be asleep for that entire plane ride." His glare was hardly effective since he could only open one eye, but it didn't stop him from trying. He grumbled, grabbed a cup of coffee, and drank it. It wasn't the best coffee around but it was hot and strong, and quenched that burning thirst in the back of his throat. He could see soldiers marching, heading towards the airport, and thought nothing of it until Syd spoke.

"We'd better join them if we want to make our plane."

Nearly choking on his coffee he turned to look at her. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" She arched her eyebrows, looking quizzically at him.

"I did, and you kept falling back asleep."

He didn't remember that. He pushed that worry away. It was just his body healing and it was taking up a lot of his energy. They both hurried up and boarded the plane, and he took one last look at the burning desert. This time, he was glad to be leaving.

Although he would try to deny it all he could, she was right. He _had_ slept for nearly the entire plane ride, only waking up on occasion when a bout of turbulence caused his body to flare up with pain. He sipped at water in those breaks, but mostly he simply remained in a dreamless sleep, or if there were any dreams, he didn't remember them by the time he woke up.

When they arrived in Texas it was just morning in the time zone, which meant having slept wasn't too much of a bad idea. It would be a long time before he was able to work the night shift again anyway, and at least now the jet lag wouldn't be overwhelming. Stretching to work out any kinks he could, and wincing at the pain it caused, he descended the plane, squinting in the morning sun. It was far cooler here, still warm by some people's standards, but much more comfortable to him. The stale air was familiar, almost comforting, as was the signs of everyday people and familiar sites.

Stifling one last yawn, he and Syd temporarily parted ways to deal with their own personal things. He went to his home, unlocking it for the first time in weeks, and made sure no unwanted vermin had made it their home while he had been away. Then he peeled off dirty clothes and checked over his own injuries to make sure nothing was bad. His shoulder was still hot and noticeably swollen, but had no discharge to warn him of any infection. His face was seriously bruised on one side, and the closest eyelid was swollen shut. He had lacerations over the bruises, and he washed them off again since they had collected a bit of dust and dirt just from the journey home. There was a smaller patch of bruising on the other side of his head, but it wasn't too painful and didn't interfere with his sight. The bruising on his abdomen was purple and green, tender to the touch. His back and shoulders had taken a few hits, mostly when he was thrown through the air after the missile strike. And his hand _itched._ It had been creeping up on him, slowly. A few moments on the plane he had thought he felt tingling where the nail had been embedded in his palm, but had ignored it. Now it was definitely itching, and he moved the dressing he could see an ugly discharge from the wound.

He grimaced. The antibiotics were probably fighting invasions all around from his little trip, and he'd need a more topical one for this wound. Most likely the nail that had been ripped out of his hand had been rusty or otherwise pretty dirty and the hot climate only served to encourage an infection.

He would take care of everything when he visited the hospital later to check on his friends, and talk to those he had left on bitter terms with.

He took a hot shower, reveling in the feel of the good water pouring over his skin soothing his aches and pains while simultaneously aggravating his shoulder. He ate, he drank lots of water, and for a long time he found himself just sitting at the table, staring at nothing, relaxing. No bombs going off. No shots being fired. No people screaming and crying in agony and sickness, desperate for help. No one yelling at him or pitching fights.

Last time it had been unnerving. This time, however, it was comforting.

And when night began to roll around and Syd arrived to check and make sure he was still conscious they both headed to the hospital to speak to their friends they had left behind.

* * *

End chapter note: I hope the time breaks weren't too confusing! I didn't want to have too many broken up sections which I usually leave for POV shifts, but if you'd like that, just let me know in the reviews! I apologize if this chapter was a bit disjointed, I just wanted to get them hope as quickly as possible and then have them go to the hospital and see people starting in the next chapter! Let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like to see and I'll see what I can do! I also am aware that Syd has a daughter and would be wanting to visit her but for this small section of the story she'll be visiting people in the hospital. By next chapter she'll likely be gone though!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Chapter 2

* * *

TC wasn't sure what to expect when he walked through the doors to the ER. Wide-eyed stares? Scott yelling at him to get the fuck out? Or perhaps no one would even notice, because they were probably all busy doing things. Instead he saw Molly at the nurse's station talking with an older patient. Beyond her were a few other orderlies, handling paperwork, talking peaceably. He looked closer, but didn't see Topher anywhere, but that could mean he was in with a patient even though the ER seemed relatively calm - for now. That could change at any moment. As he approached, he caught sight of Jordan walking down the hall, Paul at her side. He barely noticed Paul as soon as he saw her. She looked calm, happy. Good. He was glad, not sure how she'd have handled his leaving, hoping she would have been fine.

Molly saw him first, walking up with Syd, one arm in a sling and his face bruised and lacerated like hell. She had finished talking with the elderly man who meandered peacefully down the hallway. "Oh good Lord. What happened to you two?" She asked, her warm, heartfelt voice drawing attention. He had always liked Molly, a wonderful nurse, and was happy to see her.

Her words caught Jordan and Paul's attention and they both looked up to see him and Syd. Jordan's eyes widened momentarily as she saw him, and he met her gaze nervously, like a child who had done something wrong and was about to get scolded. Scolded for leaving... or for coming back at all. He hadn't spoken to her in the last few weeks, not willing to make the call back home and hear how badly he had fucked up. But he didn't see anger in her eyes, or even disappointment. Only concern and, perhaps, relief.

"You should have called me to tell me you were back," was all she said, and she hugged him. He tensed reflexively, bracing sore muscles, but she held him gently as if her touch would break him. And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"I guess I wanted it to be a surprise," he said as she let go.

"Are you okay?" She asked, looking at both him and Syd who stood awkwardly, both displaying the marks of the war-torn country they had visited.

"We're great," TC said, forcing a smile. His body _hurt_ but he wasn't about to say that. It felt surprisingly good to see his friends again, and knew he had made a mistake with leaving. He belonged _here,_ at the hospital. He didn't regret going, even though all the lives that had been saved had probably been lost in the bomb strikes. But if he had not gone he may not have gotten through this mental breakthrough, finding himself more relaxed than he had been in a very long time.

About as soon as he had said that, however, Syd spoke up. "The camp got bombed, then we got kidnapped by rebels, and then he got shot by the rebel who's life he saved for some reason." TC glared at her, already sensing the reaction.

"You were shot?" Jordan asked.

"The camp was bombed?" Paul said at about the same moment.

He resisted a groan, casting a long-suffering glance at Molly who at least looked sympathetic. "I'm fine. They checked me out at the base," he said, trying to stop Jordan from reaching up to check on his shoulder. He didn't want any poking or prodding at it while it was still swollen and painful, because then she'd definitely want to examine it, and then she'd examine his infected hand and start acting like a crazy mother.

"Are you sure?" She gave him a long look, as though trying to determine if he was lying or not.

"Nothing I can't keep an eye on," he responded awkwardly. His shoulder throbbed in protest, as if it wanted to be checked out and given something, but he ignored it, forcing himself not to react. He wasn't going to let it interrupt his visit when he still had so many more people to find and talk to. He was mostly looking for Drew, because he had a long talk to give after that disaster of a bar fight and the following events in the drunk tank. But he couldn't see the man anywhere.

"Is everything okay here?" TC asked, suddenly noticing the uncertain looks on the faces of many of the orderlies, and a few of the doctors who had walked past.

"Well, yes..." Jordan broke off when another voice interrupted.

"What's going on here?" It was Scott's voice, and TC turned to see him approaching from the direction of the OR. He looked surprised to see TC and Syd there. "Oh." TC waited tensely for a moment, wondering if Scott was going to tell him to leave, make some kind of snide comment, or something else. They had never been particularly close, and they had not exactly left on good terms either. Not that they had ever been on good terms. "What happened?" Was all he asked, however, and TC put aside his tension.

"It was a warzone," was all TC offered. He knew he would have to tell them the full story but he'd rather say it once than multiple times, or have it get spread, misspoken by others, around the hospital.

Scott arched an eyebrow at home and walked up to Syd. "I'm glad you're all back. We need some help after everything that's happened," he said, surprising TC even more. This didn't sound like the Scott he remembered leaving behind when he left. This sounded like a different man, who who had put aside differences because the hospital needed it. If he could do it, so could TC, surely.

"What do you mean everything that happened? Is everyone okay?" TC asked, instantly alert. He was sure someone would have called him if anyone had died, but what if it had been recent, while they were being attacked, or while they were traveling? The lack of sight of Drew or Topher had him on edge, now more than before. But surely if someone _had_ died there would be grief and signs of mourning rather than just discomfort.

"My father bought out the ER," Paul blurted out. TC looked at him in surprise. No wonder people were acting strange, new ownership meant changes.

And Paul's father was kind of a dick.

"You mean like... new ownership bought out?" Syd asked, looking surprised as well. As far as they knew the hospital had been doing just fine before they left. Sure, they were a little low on funds from time to time and the management was godawful, but he hadn't gotten any word about losing their contract. Unless Topher had intentionally not said anything so as not to worry him, and TC realized that could very possibly be true.

"We were in danger of being sold out to an insurance company," Scott clarified. "And Paul's father has an organization that buys out hospitals, and it would be the best option to keep us running." He sounded a lot like he was trying to justify something, something that was making TC's skin tingle.

"Where's Topher?" He asked suddenly, voicing his suspicion.

Everyone had exchanged a look, one that made anger start to rise in his chest for the first time since he had got back. He suddenly felt the need to have a long, heated discussion with Paul's father, and set some things straight. This ER _needed_ Topher.

"My father... let him go," Paul said, sounding very uncomfortable.

And it clicked like that. Those bastard higher ups only ever cared for money, not the patients, and Julian was just like them. They'd do anything to make the cash flow in, regardless of how badly it would actually hit the hospital to lose one of their most important doctors. No wonder everyone had been acting so strange, walking on egg shells. TC, however, knew he was going to do anything but walk on them.

"But he has agreed to hire him back... as a regular doctor." Jordan added, and everyone looked at her in surprise.

"Will he even want to return? I mean no offense Paul, but your father isn't exactly good doctor of the year." Paul shrugged, indicated he felt no offense to Scott's words. "Topher knows he can help more people as the chief resident, that's why he took the position in the first place."

"I can convince him," TC said quietly. He could. He'd try, anyway. This hospital was nothing without Topher.

"Excuse me, but I've been waiting for _two hours!_ " A loud man's voice interrupted and TC turned to see a sizable man sporting a minor head wound stomping up to them. "And you're all just standing around doing nothing. When will I get checked?" He shouted, and TC resisted the very sudden urge to punch him in the face. He wasn't a doctor in this situation, he was just a visitor. Which meant he _could_ punch him without repercussions which was a rather entertaining thought but he wasn't in any condition to get into a fight.

For a moment he was distracted as Drew approached from one of the exam rooms, eyes widening as he observed the situation. _At least he's still around,_ TC thought.

"Sir, calm down, we'll get to you as soon as we can" Scott said in a calming manner, but the patient was angry and was having none of it.

"No, I need to be seen now! I don't have all day," the man fumed, and then made the mistake of shoving Scott back.

"Hey, that's not going to get you helped any sooner," TC said, adding reasoning to the volatile situation. But reasoning was not one of the ingredients it needed, and the man glared at him.

"Shut up, I'm talking to the doctors!" The stench of alcohol wafted in his direction. _Great, a drunk,_ TC thought, before the man barged through him and Syd to get to the desk. And in the process, slammed into his shoulder while pushing him out of the way.

White hot pain tore down the arm and he hissed out, staggering into the desk for support. His shoulder flared in renewed pain, nearly as bad as it had been initially when he was shot, and he brought his hand up as if to touch it, but didn't dare to do so, letting it hover there as he tried to get his breathing and pain under control. Nearby a fight had broken out, and he felt something pass by his head like a gust of air as Drew and Scott manhandled the guy away. Security came running, helping to control the drunk man. TC leaned against the desk, gritting his teeth against the waves of pain. He was distinctly aware that the wound was bleeding as it grew warm.

Molly had stood up and was standing next to him, a hand resting on his back. "Are you okay?" She asked, her voice helping him focus.

"Yes... I'm great," he choked out, trying to straighten. _Goddamn_ did that hurt!

The drunk had been subdued, and Drew and Scott were returning. Jordan and Syd stood on his other side and she was peering at his shoulder, the clothing starting to turn red. "You're bleeding now," she pointed out unnecessarily. He nodded silently, realizing that he had broken out into a sweat.

He straightened up, hand still hovering over the gunshot, not daring to touch the hot, throbbing area. As he did so he saw Drew staring at him, an odd expression on his face, mixed with concern. Before he could figure out what it was Jordan had began to guide him towards an exam room. "I need to check this," she said, refusing to listen to any protests. TC bit back a sigh.

This was not how he had wanted things to go.

* * *

End chapter note: I needed an excuse for his wounds to be checked, and that came to mind! Please let me know how you like it so far! Also, not planning on updating every day - expect updates between 1-3 days, I just had a burst of muse!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Chapter 3

* * *

Syd had taken the events as her cue to talk to her daughter and her obnoxious ex-husband and excused herself. TC found himself sitting on an exam table with almost no clue of how he got there, with Jordan helping him to off his jacket. He could see the growing bloodstain on it, and the bandage had soaked through, at least on the top. It wasn't exactly an easy feat to do something as simple as taking off clothing with only one functional arm. She frowned at him for a moment, and he wasn't sure why, unless it was the uncomfortable silence that was currently permeating the room. Paul had come in to help, but fortunately Drew and Scott had stayed out. He didn't quite need or _want_ an audience.

"Okay we need to get your shirt off too, it's in the way," Jordan said, breaking the silence.

"All you had to do was ask," he said, the joke making Paul look around awkwardly and he tried not to laugh.

Trying to pull his shirt up only sent pain sizzling through his shoulder and his other arm kept getting in the way, reminding TC why he absolutely could not stand arm slings. Yet again she helped, and he hissed slightly in pain when part of the shirt sleeve, which had wiggled its way under the bandage, pulled away from the injury. When the bandage too was pulled off and revealed the puffy, throbbing and bleeding bullet hole in all its glory he felt momentarily woozy.

Maybe he should have taken something after all.

"What did they do at the medical base, slap a bandage on it and call it good?" Jordan asked, exasperated. Normally TC would have shrugged a response, but he wasn't feeling too keen on moving any part of his shoulder by accident.

"They gave me antibiotics too," he said helpfully. "Ow!" He complained when she placed a fresh wad of gauze on the bleeding wound to help soak up the blood.

"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry, just a little annoyed, like she always sounded when he did something stupid like go and get shot and then not take care of the wound. Paul was messing around with his sling, probably planning on replacing it with a more functional one, but unfortunately noticed the bandage on his hand.

"What happened to your hand?" He asked, and if Jordan wasn't putting pressure on his shoulder and if the pain wasn't starting to skyrocket he would've pulled it back.

"A nail," he responded shortly.

"How?" Jordan asked, preparing a sterile needle and thread kit with her other hand. He had hoped she wouldn't ask, not quite wanting to admit that he had been in the midst of a missile strike not once, but _twice_ , although the second one had been far more substantial. Especially after that debris had come down on his head.

"There was another missile attack at the rebel camp. I woke up with it in my hand."

He specifically chose not to mention being blown into the side of a wall and then getting buried under it. Oh no, he did not want to see her go into angry mama bear mode while simultaneously yelling at him for going to such a dangerous place to begin with. As it was he'd probably have to explain the entire event in detail later, probably to everyone so it would only need to be said once. After he was treated, anyway, so she didn't decide to stitch him up without the painkillers.

Of course Paul was unwrapping the gauze to check his hand wound and he tensed in spite of himself. The flesh was red and angry, and a thick ooze had begun to drip from his hand. Yeah, that had _most definitely_ been a dirty nail.

"Woah, that's infected."

"What the hell, T," Jordan said, glaring at him as if it was _his_ fault.

"I was going to take care of it myself," he argued. "It's not that bad." Probably not the wisest words to say in his situation. But it was true. It was a minor infection in a small wound that could easily be taken care of without needing someone else to do it for him. But that had practically been flushed down the drain because his bullet wound had opened up and now they were going to notice everything.

She sighed. Paul was hiding a grin, meeting TC's exasperated look.

"You're all bruised up. Was that also from the missile strikes?" Her voice was angry and he decided it would be wise not to lie. Besides, he was fairly certain he had a bruise on his side in the shape of a boot and she could probably see it.

"Some of it. There was a parachute of supplies that fell on the wrong side of the border and the soldiers weren't going to let us get it. So we had to... improvise." Which meant trying to outrun several guards to get to it and somehow manage to get back through them. Not the best idea, that was for sure. "There was a typhus outbreak in the camp, and everyone would have died without it," he added, knowing the mention of all the lives there would hopefully stop her from calling him a moron.

"Why wouldn't they let you through?" Paul asked, looking confused.

Ah, poor naive, caring Paul. Little did he know the level of pure hatred that ran through the hearts of those protecting their borders. Maybe it was justified, maybe not. In TC's mind the lives were simply more important.

"Because they hate the refugees." TC shrugged, immediately wished he hadn't. He squirmed painfully on the table for a moment, wishing his shoulder would just stop hurting or that someone would just cut it off. "It's a different world," he added, voice taut, when Paul still looked confused. TC wasn't going to pick sides on the war over there. They all had their reasons, even if they didn't deal with them in the most... helpful... way.

"I'm going to give you a little morphine so I can actually take care of this. I'm assuming you were too stubborn to get anything before." It wasn't quite a question, and as soon as the wonder juice got through to him he felt himself starting to relax, the pain in his shoulder easing.

"So they beat you up because you tried to get some medicine?" Paul asked, still stuck on that odd notion of people hating others so much they'd want them to die.

"Basically."

"You're going to get yourself killed doing something stupid," Jordan said with a sigh, and he grinned slightly in response. She'd been saying that for years, and she was probably right. It was bound to happen. It was mere luck that the second explosion hadn't killed him anyway.

"And then they all died anyway," he said quietly, feeling a surge of frustration and helplessness.

All of the work and time they put in, all of the people they had met and cared for and given another chance to live... probably all had been killed in the missile strikes, or by the rebels when they raided the camp. What a tragic waste.

Jordan and Paul were both silent, neither knowing what to say in response. She began to apply a local to his shoulder so she could clean it and stitch it, and as that final tug of pain faded from the injury he suddenly felt better than he had in days. Paul had cleaned the hole in his hand and applied an antibiotic cream to it, before wrapping it in a notably cleaner bandage than the original had been. Every so often he felt a slight twinge in his shoulder but there had been no new pain, and oddly he felt himself growing tired.

"Did you give me something to make me tired?" He asked, and wouldn't be surprised if she did in order to get him to lie down and rest for a bit.

Instead he was met by a confused stare. "No. Just morphine and a local," she said. "Why, are you feeling tired?" She asked.

"Just a bit," he said, blinking several times in an effort to keep his eyes clear.

"Any possibility you caught something?"

"I was on antibiotics," he said, resisting shrugging. She was still finishing up his shoulder and even if it didn't hurt he didn't want to mess it up.

"I'll do a blood test just to be sure," she said, looking at Paul.

TC lay still, and even when she carefully pulled him forward to make sure the exit wound wasn't open and bleeding it didn't disturb him at all. In fact, before he knew it, even before they had finished drawing blood, his eyes closed.

* * *

 **Jordan POV**

They had left TC resting after finishing up. She couldn't believe how swollen and painful his shoulder had looked, amazed he had even made it so far, hiding the pain from everyone. And the infected wound in his hand, and all the bruises on his chest and stomach. She saw signs of physical hits, signs of being struck by large objects - most likely from the explosions - and even heard his hoarse breathing when she checked. Probably smoke-strained, because the sound did not originate in his lungs. While he was pale and injured and had an infected wound she did not find any obvious signs of illness, and assumed the exhaustion was brought on by the lack of pain.

She looked around, spotting just the woman she was looking for. Syd had finished her phone call and was about to head out when Jordan waved her over. Syd looked at her questioningly.

"Is he alright?" she asked, and Jordan nodded quickly.

"We treated his injuries. And then he fell asleep right away. I'm just wondering..." She trailed off at the dawning understanding.

"Don't worry. He's going to need his sleep. He barely slept at the camp, always waking up from nightmares, always running off to do something. He didn't take any time to get much rest for himself, and then the base got bombed. I'm not exactly sure what happened after the bombing because I was taken somewhere else but he basically spent all his time trying to find me while taking care of a half-dead rebel. I think he got knocked around a few times. And then he got shot and still wouldn't stop to rest. I'd slip him something just so he sleeps. The man's a machine," she explained while Jordan nodded while trying to mask her concern.

She should have known. Damn TC. She was going to kick his ass when he was feeling better.

"Stubborn bastard," she groused, and finally ended up saying goodbye to Syd who left to go visit her daughter for the first time in weeks. Jordan turned to see that a crowd had gathered and were waiting for her to let them know what was going on. With a sigh, she approached them, noting Drew seemed to be a bit uncomfortable. She knew he and TC had gotten into a fight before he left, and had even punched him, although having hard what happened she knew it had been a well deserved punch. She knew those two had a lot to talk about.

"He's resting right now," she said quickly before anyone could ask. "And he should be fine once his shoulder heals." She didn't know he even wanted to return to the ER, but if he did it would be awhile. Gunshots to the shoulder, while not often as life threatening as other places, took a long time to heal and required physical therapy. His was a little closer to his chest, which meant it would require a bit of work to get it fully functional again.

"So who's going to call Topher?"

* * *

End chapter note: I will warn you that I am legitimately incapable of writing a single chapter in a story without SOME kind of pain in it. I don't know why... maybe one day. Also thanks for the reviews, happy to see them! Next chapter will have TC and Drew talking things out and getting those problems out of the way. And I'm not going to kill Topher, don't worry! Busy day upcoming, so this is where the up to 3 days to update note takes effect...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Chapter 4

* * *

When he woke he felt far more rested than before, having not even realized he had been so exhausted to begin with. His eyes no longer ached, and he was capable of thinking clearly for what felt like the first time in days. The pain was at tolerable levels, but seemed to be further away, as if just out of his immediate attention. He felt the immediate after effects of morphine slowly fading from his mind as he opened his eyes, vision swimming momentarily before clearing. Other than the double vision, he was almost able to see normally. He still had to squint when he saw that there were two Tophers sitting in the room.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how pissed is she?" TC said into the nearly silent room, making the Topher's jump. Huh. Guess Topher had been asleep, or was maybe checking his phone. TC couldn't tell, since his eyes were still trying to recover from doing wonky things.

"I'd say 11," his friend responded, looking up. "And I'm with her."

Ah damn. He should have known. It wouldn't be the first time he had gone off somewhere without asking if anyone was okay with it and came back worse for the wear, and he knew Topher would often get pretty worried. And worry tended to go to anger real quickly when people did stupid things and lived. They would probably be pretty angry if he died, too, now that he thought about it.

"I didn't really expect the camp to get bombed the same day we were going to leave," he pointed out tentatively.

He was far too woozy and out of it to really get into an argument.

"That's no excuse. You know full well it was a war zone and that there are no rules over there," Topher scoffed, but his words seemed to lack the usual frustration it had when he was trying to tell him off after being stupid.

TC squinted more, and decided to look at the Topher closest to him.

"I had to go. I needed to get out of here."

It was the first time he had admitted it to anyone other than himself. Sure he had offered other reasons and basically stormed off before he left, to be blamed on a hangover and a bar fight, but he had truly _needed_ to get away. From the drama, from the fighting, from all the pent up emotions between him and his coworkers. His mind had flashed back constantly to losing the baby, to breaking up with Jordan, to that unnecessary and totally his fault fight with Drew that had cost his friend a visit to see his adoptive daughter before her surgery. He had needed to leave, because it was the only way to avoid owning up to all his mistakes while they were still fresh. And now it felt like they had vanished, or grown clean in his head.

"Are you feeling alright? I'm over here," The Topher's waved and TC realized he had chosen the wrong one to look at. He shook his head slightly as if to get his brain functioning but it was just a doubled up as it had been before.

"Well it was a 50/50 chance," he muttered to himself. "I'm pretty sure it's the morphine but there's two of everything," he added more loudly. He rarely took painkillers, especially prescription strength painkillers, because of the absurd side effects. And he always got side effects, which was the main reason he refused most medications and didn't want painkillers in the first place.

"I wouldn't be so quick to blame the morphine, have you taken a look in the mirror any time recently?"

TC scoffed in response. He had not, mainly because he didn't quite _want_ to see all the fresh hits. But he could feel the tightness in his head and the lacerations near his eye. At least his second eye was actually opening properly now. Then he remembered the conversation he had been having before his wound had gotten opened back up thanks to a drunk jackass, although he himself had been a drunk jackass a few weeks ago, so judgment must be held.

"I heard what happened," he said quietly. Topher was not wearing scrubs, and was in his usually street clothes. It seemed odd to see his friend in anything _other_ than his scrubs inside the hospital.

"Yeah. It's been a tough few weeks around here. It was the best we could do to save the ER, but sacrifices had to be made," Topher spoke in a clinical tone, as if it didn't really effect him. TC knew better, practically feeling the frustration and fury that radiated from his friend. He shared it, because Topher _was_ the life of the ER, and no world class neurosurgeon douchebag could take that away.

"Jordan managed to get you a position back as a doctor, right?" He had no idea if she had told Topher or not.

"Yeah. I'm not sure I can agree to work under him," Topher's voice was still calm, but it was starting to grow cold, and TC knew he was intruding on dangerous territory. It was sensitive talk to Topher, who had practically lost his best chance of helping people in exchange for keeping the ER going.

"Who's going to stop me from beating his face in?" TC asked, trying to ease that tension.

"I'm not sure I would even if I was here," Topher sighed.

"Well then, you can help me," he said, shrugging reflexively. _Ouch!_ That broke through the haze of morphine. His shoulder was going to be a pain in the ass and he knew it, especially when he had to try and keep it moving so the muscles healed properly.

Topher laughed, but it lacked its normal energy. "I'll have to think about it."

They talked of random subjects for a little bit, from Topher's wife and daughters to various cases they had dealt with on their separate paths. Afterwards Topher had left and TC ended up dozing, before slipping into a dream. Perhaps nightmare was a better word for it, although it was a memory rather than a figment of his imagination. Faces, tents, a missile coming down directly onto the medical tent. Why? Why pick sick and injured people as a target? Syd's blood soaked face. A man running, his back on fire. He could feel his own heart racing as he ran forward, breathing in the smoke. Another missile blew up their water tower, and send more people flying to the ground. Broken limbs, broken necks, cries of pain. The man on fire fell to the ground and didn't move. He kept moving, and then was thrown sideways. Heat, pain, smoke. The force enough to wipe down half the camp.

Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he flinched, expecting to be hit. His eyes flew open and he his body jolted painfully in the intermittent state between full consciousness and dream, and it was that pain that drew him from the nightmare rather than someone trying to hold him still and calm him down. His heart was racing and he carefully had to calm his breathing, drawing in deep breaths until the monitor stopped going crazy. Prior to now, most of his sleep had been dreamless.

It took him several more moments of fully waking to realize the person who had been trying to stop him from freaking out and hurting himself in the midst of the nightmare was Drew. TC eyed him warily for a moment, gradually deciding to relax.

Drew would only punch him when he deserved it.

"You good?" Drew asked, with that _I get it_ frown on his face. TC wasn't the only one to get bad dreams, sometimes of varying frequency. There were at least three people in this very ER that struggled with them from time to time. Of course, he wasn't typically having them in the hospital where other people could see, preferring to struggle with them alone, so at the very least, he wouldn't accidentally punch a nurse in the face if he woke up.

TC nodded. "Yeah. My shoulder woke me up," he said, though the pain had faded away into numbness.

The usual ease he felt around his friend was unusual, although it was due to the circumstances preceding his departure. It was his guilt, that nagging feeling that had followed him for the entire 'trip, that was getting to him now. He had been a massive dick, albeit a drunk one, and he had never actually apologized. Up and left, with only a word to a few. Perhaps one of his few displays of public emotion, hidden behind a wall of passive aggression to avoid causing a dangerous disturbance.

He had better start now then before it became awkward. "I just wanted to say..." Drew interrupted him, however.

"I'm sorry I punched you."

TC looked at him in surprise. He hadn't expected that off the bat. He wondered if the aftermath of Brianna's surgery had been good enough that it hadn't been too alarming that he wasn't angry any longer. Or maybe he looked worse than he thought and Drew was taking pity. "Hey I deserved that punch... and maybe the punches before that because I was a drunk asshole. If anyone should apologize for punching me it should be those soldiers back there," he added.

"I shouldn't let my anger take control of me," Drew argued, as if he was desperate to find some reason to be at fault. And maybe, just maybe, he felt it was his fault TC had left in the first place.

"I shouldn't have been drinking so much," TC said. He thought about it for a bit. He used to drink a lot, almost every night, until he had gotten together with Jordan and tried to change himself for the better. Then he had deteriorated again, returning back to the way he had been before at an alarming pace. "Things got out of hand. I think I just needed a break from everything to clear my head... and I definitely managed to do that."

Cleared his head of basically everything, including a few brain cells that had been knocked out of him.

"If I stayed I might have ruined our chance to stay open," he added. It would not have gone down well. It probably still wouldn't go down well later when he finally contracted Cummings senior about Topher and how he was changing things in the hospital.

Drew laughed. "You're probably right. It got hairy for a few days."

TC sat up, tensing in case it hurt but fortunately felt nothing more than a twinges. He had to finish with his previous statement, knowing he would never be able to get it off his chest if he pretended it was alright. "I'm sorry I made you late for Brianna's surgery." He didn't know why he found it so hard to apologize, especially when he actually meant it. Pride? Ego? Something stupid?

Drew sighed. "Hey, it's done now. And she's great... Just remind me not to go drinking with you again," he added after a pause.

TC laughed, but it made his shoulder throb so he stopped.

"I'm glad you're back, things are finally going to get fun around here again," he said, and TC hoped he was right.

* * *

End chapter note: I wasn't quite sure how to write this scene. Anyway, glad to see people are enjoying the story! (And I know right? There's literally no TC whump other than the migraine story that I can find!). I'm going to ramp up some drama because it's time for that in the next chapter(s).


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: Events beginning at the end of season 3 at the hospital begin in this chapter (i.e. the wild fire).

Chapter 5

* * *

It took him an entire week to lose the sling, unable to tolerate the blasted thing hindering his every movement. He had gone home, watched TV and wandered around in boredom. The pain in his shoulder had died down significantly, although increased a bit when he took off the sling. He had very little range of motion in the arm, likely from damaged and inflamed muscles that would take some time not just to repair, but function. He didn't look forward to having to exercise the limb but it would have to happen if he ever wanted full control over it again. He had decided to go visit the hospital after seeing the large fire expanding on the news, knowing someone would be sent out to look for injured people and evacuate. And he didn't feel right sitting at home and not knowing what was going on.

Driving was difficult with one hand. He drove like a dick, not using his blinker and having to slow down to shift. It made him wonder how many of the people he regularly disliked on the road for not using blinkers had a bad shoulder or were driving one-handed because of something. In the end he only managed to get honked at a few dozen times before he pulled into the guest parking lot, noting the emergency room was a lot busier than it had been when he had arrived earlier.

At least Topher had agreed to return to the hospital as a doctor, which would make the transition of returning to work all the smoother in the next couple of weeks when he continued to heal. His head was feeling and looking better and he was able to keep both eyes open.

TC ended up chatting a bit with Molly in between check ins until they were interrupted by the man himself, Dr. Cummings. He had managed to avoid the man for the entire two days he was in the ER getting stitches and antibiotic treatment, but it seemed like both of their luck had run out. TC stared at the man with barely contained hostility, which seemed to be understood while also being ignored. Even though Topher had been hired back he still didn't like this man one bit, not only for that, but for the way he treated the staff and patients as though the only thing that a hospital should care about was money.

"I heard you had returned. Welcome back, Doctor Callahan," Cummings said amiably, extending his hand to shake. It took all of TC's self control to begrudgingly take it, not quite willing to make a scene in front of the entire ER. "How is the shoulder?"

"Eh, getting better," he responded. He had gone in today to check on people, and didn't want to cause a scene and end up getting kicked out. Still, he knew he and the new head of the hospital would likely be having a one-on-one conversation sometime soon. The hospital meant more than just a money grab, and the people who relied on it in the community needed a team that cared about their health rather than their paychecks.

"Good, let me know when you're good. We need you," the man said, oblivious (or pretending to be) to TC's inner thoughts.

"Yeah I see that," TC replied, looking around at the busy ER. There were many people coming in, coughing and choking from smoke inhalation. Others had ashen faces, eyes streaming from the smoke leaving little trails down their grey faces. Others sported injuries, bleeding from arms, legs, or even running down their faces. Some on stretchers, some supported by nurses and family members. And endless army of people effected by the fires, and it likely would not end any time soon. The fire was still rushing past, burning everything in its path, and although the hospital was safely nestled at a distance from it, the same could not be said for millions of residents who lived close by. It could take weeks in the midst of drought for the fires to be vanquished, or even longer.

They could only hope no severe accidents and explosions occurred between now and then because it looked like the hospital was already overwhelmed.

As one of the critical patients was being pushed straight through he resisted the urge to run up and start doling orders and helping. He wasn't a doctor right now, and he wouldn't be able to do anything with only one functional arm. Even so, he was watching as the patient went by, making a mental note of his injuries and thinking of what he would do to treat if he were able to.

Scott was rushing to take the patient in and TC wondered how he would treat, and if he would do it properly. The age old competitive streak in him was not to be stopped by anything, not even an inability to actually participate. Sure, part of the reason he hadn't liked Scott was because he had been jealous of the man's relationship with Jordan, but he had also felt a deeper dislike, and that was on the level of his intellect and skills. Another doctor just randomly showing up and jumping the line? He hadn't liked that.

"Things are starting to get busy," Dr. Cummings said, interrupting TC's silent musing. "If you'll excuse me..." The man walked off, heading towards the mass of ambulances dropping off new patients, probably to complain about the number of people and ask how many of them had insurance.

"Wow, I was expecting some entertainment," Molly remarked. She had been quiet for their entire interaction, watching curiously.

TC laughed. "Maybe next time. I need both arms," he said, his left arm mostly unwilling to move. It would be awhile yet, and maybe being partly debilitated sobered him up a bit. Or he had logically concluded that getting into a fight with his injuries was detrimental.

"I see trouble incoming," Molly warned him, and he turned as Jordan left one of the exam rooms and spotted smiled wryly.

"Nah it's too busy..." he trailed off when she approached him. _Oh no._ She was going to chew him out for being here _and_ for taking off his sling. He knew it. He could practically see the expression on her face screaming so. "Don't tell me she's in a bad mood," he said quietly but Molly only smiled back and pretended to be busy with other things.

"T it's a little bit busy for you to be causing trouble," she said.

Yep, definitely in a bad mood.

"I'm not causing trouble. I saw the news and wanted to check in and make sure everything was alright," he replied honestly. Things did look okay, from the hospital side, but that could be doomed to change as more patients were brought in, or if something happened out in the field that called someone out to help. Normally he would be the one to get called out in more dangerous situations, but since he wasn't able to go back to work just yet it would be someone else. Not being able to help was... annoying.

"You should still be wearing the sling, your shoulder needs to be immobile until the wound heals," she said, already eyeing him, as though to see how much he was taking care of himself.

Truthfully it had been a relatively good week. Topher had visited a few times with his family. He had also checked up with Drew and visited Brianna, glad to see the young girl was actually doing really good. She was lucky to have two new, loving parents after everything that had happened.

"It won't reopen, I'm being careful," TC replied dutifully. Mostly because he wasn't actually _capable_ of moving it beyond small, painful twitches.

Jordan may have figured out his meaning, or at least suspected something was going on, because she raised an eyebrow at him and glanced around as if to determine there were no other criticals that needed immediate attention. Nurses were fortunately treating those who had breathed in too much smoke, and there was a temporary lull in the need for doctors. "How is the muscle damage?" She asked. They hadn't been able to find out right away since the swelling had been so bad, but now that the swelling was gone he had been able to determine how much he was able to move the limb, if at all.

"It's going to need some time," he said, shrugging his good shoulder which he had managed to master over the week.

She didn't miss the lack of movement. Or the way he had yet to move the arm in question, letting it lie at his side as it wanted. "Are you able to move it at all?" The question was tinged with concern rather than annoyance.

"I can move my arm," he said. Carefully lifting his arm at the elbow, he felt it start to shake as it rose midway, the tension on his muscles starting to tug at the injury, sending pain rippling down his arm. As it began to shake he carefully lowered it, not even daring to move or rotate his shoulder in any direction. It wasn't very promising but it had only been a week since the initial injury, and he likely had quite some time to go before it recovered fully - if, hopefully, it did at all.

"If you can't move it why did you get rid of the sling?"

"It was getting in the way."

She sighed, looking as though she was about to start asking a higher power for the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, just don't hit it on anything or do something stupid and get it hurt worse because I don't have time to deal with it," she finally said, her glare softened by the sheen of concern and friendliness. that had broken through the barrier of annoyance.

"I never do anything stupid," he said, failing to keep a straight face in the process.

She would have responded but as expected, shit finally hit the fan. Scott appeared, scrubs stained with smoke. He barely even noticed TC, his eyes roaming around the ER looking for people to help with whatever was about to happen.

"There's an injured firefighter in the middle of the fire, she needs to be evacuated and they need hands on the scene." TC would have jumped forward if he could, but found himself standing there, wanting to help, and not being able to do a thing about it as orderlies already went off to get preparations ready for a potentially critical patient. "We have to go now!" Scott said above the noise, and quickly went to grab his field gear.

Jordan turned to TC. "I'll be back," she said, hurrying towards the locker room.

TC could see the fire on the news in the ER television, the size and gravity. The casualties so far, the injured, and the damage. The situation was going to get worse as the wind picked up, making a rescue difficult. He turned as Jordan reappeared from the locker room, wearing not just any field jacket, but _his._

"Be safe," he said quietly as she passed, and watched her leave the doors of the ER with Scott to find someone in the fire.

* * *

End chapter note: I've been thinking about how to continue the story without it getting stale (I'm not a slow burner, I like the action to keep on going otherwise I find it hard to write) and figured I'd go through a few season 4 episodes with the more realistic injury and a slightly different timeline. I mean, gotta keep that whump tag up. Also thank you all for the support and reviews!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: At this point I will be posting chapters that may not occur directly after the previous. Simply because the events of the fire were already shown in the episodes so I'm just writing in parts where TC is home and what not! Moving on, I really hated how after Annie committed suicide that... nothing happened. They never showed on the show if anyone knew. And they should have done something with it if they bothered to have her do it. She's TC's sister and I didn't like her but it _should_ have a part.

Chapter 6

* * *

TC managed to get himself a part helping with paperwork and basic things like that. It was boring as hell but at least he had something to do, and he got to keep an eye on things that were going on in the hospital. And that was also how he learned how his sister in law had been stealing drugs. He had no idea how to respond, or even react, to the news. Scott had done _everything_ to help her get back on her feet. She had lied to them both, saying she was doing good, pretending to not be causing any trouble, to be _clean_ , and then she turned around and started taking drugs again. If TC hadn't become so familiar with her actions he probably would have been enraged, told her off, turned his back. Instead he simply found himself embarrassed over her actions, frustrated with who she was as a person. Thad had married this woman? The only thing she was capable of doing was letting people down, and as he watched blankly as she walked out of the hospital, he couldn't even muster up any words to say to Scott who looked distraught. What could he say? Annie was Annie.

In the end Scott had wandered off to be alone and everyone acted awkwardly as if they didn't quite know what to do either. TC sighed, pressing on his temples as if warding off a headache, but not being Scott's favorite person he knew he had no place in offering any kind of kind words. So he did nothing and simply continued shuffling paper one-handed. Not many people liked his sister-in-law and he understood why. But she was still family so he couldn't exactly say he _didn't_ like her. He just couldn't turn her away, out in the cold. What kind of brother would he be if he did that?

It was pretty uneventful after that He had finished his pile and was joking around with Molly while testing the strength in his arm with a squeeze ball when the shift ended and there was still no sign of Scott. With a sigh, TC stood, stretching the kink in his back that came from sitting around too long. There was a reason he didn't take desk jobs.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible... but I think you're the last person he wants to talk to right now," Molly said gently.

She was probably right, but hey, he was the king of doing stupid things that most people would know better than to do. And he _had_ , prior to him leaving for Syria, told Scott it wouldn't be a bad idea to give her something to do. Something to take care of. And look what had happened then? He at least needed to say something. Damage control, and all of that. She was his sister after all. "Yeah I know. But I should at least say something, I told him she'd probably be fine," he said, and bracing himself, he stepped into the locker room.

Scott had taken it upon himself to empty out Annie's locker. For a moment TC's eyes fell on some pictures displaying her and Thad and he felt a sudden lump in his throat when he thought of his brother. Why hadn't she taken these things with her when she left?

Scott didn't seem notice him at first or was simply ignoring him, so TC wandered forward, looking more closely at the picture. They had looked so happy back then, and she had been such a better person too. Before drugs and theft and lies had turned her into the person she was now. Or maybe it had been Thad's death that had sent her over the edge. Turned her from who she used to be to who she was now. TC knew what grief could do to a person.

"What are you doing here?" Scott asked, not even turning to look.

He was angry, and TC understood his anger, and probably the hostility too. "Just checking to make sure you're okay," TC said cautiously. "People were getting worried," he added. He and Scott had never been friends and they probably never would be.

"I don't need your concern," Scott finally turned to him and there was an uncharacteristic fury in his eyes. "You and your family are the problem here," he said, and suddenly went to leave. Silently TC moved out of the way to avoid being bumped, keeping his expression impassive enough though the words had stung. Maybe there was some truth to the words, and that made them sting all the more fiercely. And with that hurt he felt a surge of anger. He would not be blamed for every bad thing that happened, especially when done by his sister. He only stood there for a few more moments, staring at the picture, then he too turned to leave.

Three days later neither of them had spoken. On top of that, he had tried to call Annie a few times just to talk, but she never answered. It wasn't extremely unreasonable for her to ignore his calls, especially after what had happened, but he found himself annoyed anyway. That, coupled with his still present inability to move his shoulder in any reasonable direction only made him irritable.

People avoided TC as much as they could, all except his closest friends, who were used to it. It was during the middle of his shift, however, in which he received a phone call he hadn't expected with an out of state code. He only answered because he thought it was Annie finally deciding to respond to his phone calls. Probably using someone else's phone. She was usually pretty clever at coming up with stories and lies to get things from other people. He knew that from experience.

"Hello?" He asked, hunkering down in an effort to cancel out any background noise from the busy hospital room.

"Hello, is this Thomas Charles Callahan? Brother-in-law to Annie Callahan?" He immediately tensed, on edge at the calm, steady male voice on the line. His first thought was that Annie had been arrested for doing drugs or caught in an accident, which wouldn't be the first time for the former problem. But they wouldn't call him for that, unless she couldn't call herself. Or would they?

"Yes, I am," he responded quietly. The tension in his voice caught the attention or Jordan who had been nearby, and she was looking over curiously.

"I am Dr. Richards from the Texoma Medical Center. I'm sorry to have to call you like this..." TC's heart plummeted into his stomach, and he stiffened as though he were preparing for a physical. _Please no, don't say what I think you're going to say,_ he thought, but he knew better. There was a reason she hadn't been answering his calls. "Early this morning Annie Callahan's body was discovered in a river. It appears to have been a suicide."

It felt like a punch to the gut. He had suspected as soon as the man began to speak that she had died. But not from suicide. He would never have thought she would kill herself, not with how hard she had tried to keep going after Thad's death. She had experienced ups and downs for her entire life. Had she really been so hurt and hopeless that no one had noticed, and that she had been willing to take her own life? It was like a revelation and he could hardly process it, the shock of it making it difficult to even respond. He was suddenly aware of his heart pounding in his throat, his eyes burning the more he thought about her. His sister-in-law. Thad's wife. Dead. He lowered his head to try and hide his expression from the others, not wanting them to be witness to his grief.

"Mr. Callahan, are you still there?" Richards asked, the near minimum of concern in his voice. He probably made these calls all the time. He probably expected these reactions, had them frequently. TC knew he couldn't talk anymore, couldn't sit here like everything was okay. He needed to go.

"Thank you for letting me know," was all he said, his voice low, a tightness in it that wasn't there before.

He hung up, cutting off Dr. Richards without even thinking about it. He put his phone away, staring down at nothing, afraid he would hit something or start to cry and he couldn't do either under the watchful eyes of the ER. Jordan had moved closer, aware something was wrong,

"Tee, are you okay?" She asked softly.

The softness was nearly enough to break the tension, that would sent him spinning out of control. He only shook his head, stiffly rose, and walked off. He needed someplace quiet, someplace without others nearby. He needed to be alone, at least for a few moments. He pushed his way into an empty exam room, which was windowless, closing the door quietly behind him. He could feel his body shaking, and clenched his hands in a failing effort to keep control. He knew he couldn't. He never was able to control his emotions, not when it came to family. He was aware of Jordan slipping in behind him, carefully and quietly. He had known she would follow. She always did. Always there when everything was falling apart and it definitely was now.

Maybe Annie was only his sister by marriage but she had _become_ his sister by life, no matter how many times she stabbed him in the back. She had been a part of his family since she had been with Thad. She had visited, he had visited, they had _done_ things together. Seen movies, cried about Thad's death, learned to move on - or at least, in part. Neither of them had been the same. She had turned to drugs and desperation. He had turned to nightmares and anger, drinking and gambling. Could he really consider his own coping mechanisms any better than hers?

Worse, he knew there had even been times in which he had considered taking his own life. He had never done it, and he had moved past those times. But he should have seen the signs in his sister. The silence in which she left. The way she had let go without an argument or an excuse. She had given up on everything, and he hadn't even noticed.

"Tee, what's wrong?" Her voice was still quiet, tinged with a concern he hadn't heard in a long time.

He turned to face her, eyes already red with the effort to hold back tears that he always fought against. "It's Annie. She killed herself," he said. And then the dam broke.

* * *

End chapter note: A sad chapter. Their relationship wasn't really explored too much by the show but he's always looked like a caring brother who forgave her frequently and that speaks to me on a personal level in which he clearly loves his sister. I'm frustrated something didn't happen in the actual episodes in which they learned about Annie's death! (or if it did, did I miss it?!)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: Oh thanks for letting me know they _did_ mention her. I ended up watching S4 on my laptop which doesn't have great sound quality so I must have missed those conversations! Regardless, carrying on... ah funerals.. not my best things to write about.

Chapter 7

* * *

The funeral was held early Saturday morning, just after sunrise. It was still chilly, with a slight wind passing through. He had picked out a nice casket for her, something she would have liked - or maybe would have considered a little too much for someone like her - and Scott had even pitched in to help cover the costs. Although the two of them had barely spoke, the old anger and hostility between them had been snuffed out like a spark. Now all that remained was a quiet, sad unease, and a sense of familiarity in the feelings they shared. TC had only been able to look at her body once. She had been recovered fairly quickly, by hikers who had seen a woman jump off a bridge on a nature hike. Her backpack had been full of rocks to weigh her down, and the thought angered him as much as the anger itself made him ashamed. She had not wanted to be found. Did she want them to think she was out there somewhere, never answering their calls, never showing up forever? It wouldn't change the outcome, but at least the knowledge of her death brought closure that her disappearance would never have brought.

And a whole range of emotions that TC wasn't ready to deal with. Among the grief and the confusion and the sense of betrayal that she would _leave_ him was the anger at her and himself. It was normal, people would say, but it didn't feel normal. It felt downright awful, and sometimes he would sit there and be furious with her that she never told him anything. That she never told him she was depressed or suicidal, that she was thinking about taking her own life. And above that, angry with himself, because he hadn't even seen it coming. He was her brother. He should have seen it, known something was wrong, but he hadn't. He had gone off to Syria, got himself hurt, come home and essentially ignored her.

The bitterness was enough to make his throat tight, and he blinked several times to clear the feeling in his eyes. He was standing still, lined up with the rest of the onlookers, gazing at the casket as it was slowly lowered into the ground. He could feel a knot in his chest, and resisted having to cough to clear it, not wanting to make a sound in the otherwise quiet air. Many of his colleagues had come, and he was glad for that. None of them really liked Annie for many reasons, but they still came to show their support for him and Scott.

He heard the soft thump as the casket hit the ground, the finality of her death suddenly breaking through. As if she wasn't actually dead until lowered into the grave, ready for the earth to be piled on top. He swallowed hard, trying to keep still even as the tension was rising in him again.

Jordan pressed closer, sensing the internal struggle, and he forced himself to calm down. There would be time later, in private, in his home away from prying eyes and people watching to deal with it. Here was the place for solemn, quiet respect. For acknowledging the departure of a loved one, to pay the final respects if need be. They had already done the visiting ceremony beforehand, in which he had seen her body, pale in death, skin still pasty despite the effort of the undertaker from the water. He had forced himself to visit as it had been expected, knowing he didn't want the last memory of his sister to be of her in death.

It made him sick to think she had thrown herself from a bridge and _drowned._ And he would never really know why. He could only guess, only try his best to understand what had happened to make her jump, and even then he would never have the full story.

He couldn't bring himself to watch as the the earth was being poured over the casket, burying away the woman his brother had loved forever. He turned, hoping his eyes weren't glistening as noticeably as he felt they were, and began to wander away. He hated funerals. The finality of it. The callousness of someone's body being buried under the earth in a cold, airless container. Everything they once had been now gone forever. Sure, she hadn't been the most likable person. She had stolen from him and from his friends, caused more trouble than most other people could do combined. She lied and played herself to be a good person and then took off whenever she was close to being found out. But she was his sister. There was a part of her that hadn't been the person everyone had seen. That she was a caring person who was able to talk to people and connect to them. How she had helped him when he needed it.

As he listened to the earth pouring into the grave behind him, he wandered quietly down the rows of graves, some fresh, some old. He struggled to bring himself to look at the one right next to hers, the one he had tried not to visit too frequently because of the memories it gave him. _Thaddeus "Thad" Callahan._ With the eyes of his friends on his back he forced himself to walk away. It was all too much to deal with.

He stood by the car, not really wanting to go inside just yet. Jordan and Topher had caught up to him, probably having walked off right after he had. Behind, the funeral itself was breaking up as people began to leave.

"You alright?" Jordan asked, her hand a gentle presence on his back.

TC sighed deeply, trying to control his breathing so he could reply normally. "Yeah. Just need to get out of here." His hands were shaking and he tried to hide them in his pockets just so they wouldn't notice. Head home and try to sleep? He didn't exactly look forward to sleeping at the moment.

"We ar going to the bar for a drink if you want to join us," Topher said, partially a question.

TC wasn't quite sure he wanted to go out, and spend this day in particular with other people. Most of him just wanted to go straight home and be alone, but he knew it would raise alarms in their minds and they probably wouldn't let him. Someone would follow him home and annoy him for the rest of the day to make sure he didn't do anything crazy. As if he ever would, the feeling of pain and betrayal in his sister's death still weighing too strong. It was like a shock that hadn't yet faded from his mind. It numbed his thoughts and slowed his mind, ultimately making him feel totally different.

Making an extreme effort to not sound completely disinterested, he replied "Sure, I'll go."

Maybe it would take his mind off of things.

It occurred to him after he sat down and ordered his drink that the last time he had gone to a bar was before he had left for Syria - the same occasion that had landed him and Drew in jail. The occasion was different, and so was he. He was not here to drink all his troubles away and sink back down into the person he had been before. He was here because his friends had asked, and was determined to only have one drink. No more. Annie's death jarred a part of him that he didn't realize was there. A logical part that saw her actions as a parallel to his own. If he continued going the way he had been he'd be joining her and Thad in the cemetery. Not from suicide - at least, he hoped that wouldn't be how he would go - but from fighting, or from drinking and getting into an accident. And he would not do that to his friends. Especially not now.

Voices droned on around him. The TV was playing a sports game that he couldn't muster any interest in. Some people were playing at the pool table, others hanging out, a few groups clustered around showing off. Jordan and Topher were talking, sitting next to him, and he barely heard the words they were saying. He stared at his glass, swirling it occasionally, too lost in his own thoughts to consider the surroundings. The surrealism of being back in a bar, this time with approving friends, at _their_ request as opposed to his own.

To be the one not quite interested in finishing the drink as opposed to downing several. He didn't want to get drunk again. He understood at last that alcohol had never numbed the pain, it had only put it in a temporary place, where it grew in size until it burst.

"Tee are you with us?" Jordan's voice broke into his concentration, and he looked up in confusion to find that both of his friends were staring at him. They must have asked him something while he had been zoning in, and he couldn't even think about what they might have said.

"Uh yeah, sorry," he replied, swirling at his glass with disinterest. He had drank some of it, and while it was good, he was having trouble bringing himself to finish it. He remembered sitting here a year ago, with Annie, trying to stubbornly refuse a drink before he caved. And then he had taken her back to his house, only to learn she had been sneaking in drugs after she fell down the stairs. Was she suicidal back then? Was their reminiscence a hint to him that something was wrong, that she was depressed and he had simply assumed it was the alcohol? If he could go back in time would he have actually see any signs, or were they hidden behind her temperamental barrier, behind that wall of lies she had built for herself?

"We were wondering if you wanted to play a game of pool," Topher said, eyeing him with worry in his eyes.

TC didn't really want to, as he just wanted to sit there and do nothing for the rest of the day, or maybe even go home. It was only mid afternoon, but it was a weekend which is why the bar was busy. Still, he needed to have some kind of air of normalcy about him. "Sure," he lied, trying to put as much effort into the smile as he could. In his effort to pretend to be normal, he thought of something. "Someone might need to help me with the cue," he added, not sure if he had the motion in his shoulder to even hold it properly.

Realization dawned on their faces. "Oh right," Jordan said.

If he hadn't have been thinking so hard he probably wouldn't have remembered until he tried to use it. The pain was as numb as the rest of him.

As they approached an empty table a commotion caught his attention. Two men at the bar, yelling and then fighting. He watched them, emotionless, and knew if he had not had a revelation that he would have, maybe even tonight, been one of those drunk men fighting.

* * *

End chapter note: TC had an epiphany. Also some minor physical whump upcoming in the next chapter (gotta draw that stuff out you know). At this time we can say goodbye to Annie. I do hope they have her death in season 5 (please NBC, renew it for another season...). Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: Takes place in season 4, episode 6 (or Family Matters). Just my take on it if TC is there. Sorry there won't be any Jordan in this chapter, but she will return in the next!

Chapter 8

* * *

TC agreed to join Drew for one of his classes mainly to take his mind off of everything. He wasn't going to participate, but he would do some shoulder exercises in the background now that he was able to rotate the shoulder and raise his arm to some degree. It wasn't perfect, and the strain of it tugged painfully at his chest, but the more he worked it the better it would heal. Mac was there, a man he had seen on occasion and heard about more frequently. A veteran and then a firefighter who only had a few months left to live. He liked Mac. No-nonsense, tough, stubborn - but most of all, determined in his work. Kenny had also joined in, interested in learning or sharing a few things, and TC found himself listening in and watching their efforts.

After a little bit he noticed Mac had brought in a friend of his, another veteran who only recently returned home. Perhaps a little too recently. Still hard around the edges, aggression in his movements. The man was staying close to Mac but TC didn't miss the nervousness in his stance or the way his eyes shifted as though the mock fights were making him uncomfortable. It was hard to go back home, and sometimes a slow start was better than jumping right in. TC himself had a hard time getting to fit in, finding any potentially threatening situation - or even an insult - enough to send him right back over the edge. It was why he used to get into bar fights so often, with the help of a little alcohol to dampen his self-control.

The lack of situational awareness, or just zoning out, when Drew was speaking to the veteran reminded TC of himself. Lost in memories, forgetting what was going on around him. He felt bad for the man, because it was a long and difficult journey to find some semblance of self.

When he could feel the old feelings creeping back on him he began to strain the shoulder a bit, just enough pain to ground him back in the present. The pain wasn't sharp or stabbing like it had been. The wound itself was almost fully scarred over, healing quite well. It was the muscles that were the problem. They healed slower than the other tissues, and the new muscle wasn't quite as stretchable as normal muscle was. It would take some work to stretch it properly, to get everything to function as it should. The problem was taking it slowly enough that he didn't risk ripping the new muscle or causing strain, as that would slow down or possibly even reset the healing process. He wasn't used to holding back. And if he was being honest with himself he was getting fed up with not being able to put a shirt on without having to wrestle himself because he couldn't raise his arm above his head.

"Hey TC," Mac said, limping around the cage wall to reach him. "Here to watch too?" The veteran had recently undergone chemo, and was still healing. He too wouldn't be joining in any fights any time soon, although TC could practically read the longing in his eyes.

"Yeah, not ready for the fun yet," TC said with a quiet laugh. Truthfully TC wasn't really ever a part of these. He fought, yes, but more on anger and instinct as opposed to measured martial arts. He wasn't built as a wrestler, and didn't quite have the patience or immense physical strength as many of the people here. He was reactionary, not focused like Drew. It was probably why he had never participated in these practice fights, or mock ups. "Is your friend ready for this?" He asked, as Locke kept interrupting Drew's lesson. It was quite possible he simply didn't fit in with this kind of support group.

"Eh. He's a bit of a warrior," Mac replied with a shrug. "Not the most patient. I'm just hoping he'll find his place."

Maybe he would. Sometimes people only needed a small shove in the right direction to find a way to cope.

But when Kenny did the first move and flopped Locke on the ground he saw the shift in the man's behaviour. The tension in his jaw. In a way, the anger radiating from him. He felt a sense of unease, but as they lined up again he figured it would be fine. But then the second time Locke wrapped his arm around Kenny's neck, and wouldn't let go. And the angle was bad, his neck at an awkward. TC dropped what he was doing and began to get around the siding, but Drew moved quickly, putting Locke in another headlock.

"Wait," TC tried to say, because all it would take was a shift upwards to cause serious or even fatal damage. But Locke had let go, and Drew had managed to twist him violently to the side. Locke's head struck the bar near TC, and he went limp.

"What the hell?" Mac spluttered as he tried to get to his fallen friend. TC momentarily froze, but as Drew went to check on Kenny he knelt by Locke and saw a gash on the side of his head where he hit the bar. It was likely going to give a nice concussion but shouldn't be life threatening unless there was a bleed. TC looked up, glancing at Drew only to hear him call for an ambulance. Kenny's words finally hit TC's ears.

 _I can't feel my legs_.

* * *

For the rest of the night he dealt with Mac's anger towards Drew for overreacting, and sat with Kenny while they waited for any results and just talked to him. Fear radiated off his friend, a fear that was fully understood and respected. Paralysis was not something anyone ever wanted to feel, even if (hopefully it was) it was temporary. For some time TC told him stories about the stupid things he did as a kid, and the also stupid things he had done as a ranger, just to keep him at ease. With any luck the swelling would go down, and he would feel something. In the midst of the chaos no one was really sure when the damage had been done. Was it from Locke, or from the moment Drew had grabbed Locke and they had jolted him just slightly? Whatever, they weren't looking for anyone to blame. Only for everything to be okay.

At some point Drew came in to apologize, for even letting Locke fight considering his behaviour. And TC realized he should have voiced his own concerns as soon as he recognized it. They couldn't quite blame Locke. He was struggling still, wrapped in anger. He didn't need combat to raise those feelings now.

After an eventful argument between Drew and Mac which was ended with Kevin's feeling returning, TC left with them. Morning had broke by the time they left, and it would feel good to go home knowing that everything would be okay with Kenny. Even after that nasty revelation with Ted, a frequent firefighter who brought them _patients,_ and even had a family. It went to show, maybe they didn't know people as well as they thought.

TC remained with Mac at the jeep after Drew wandered off, with plans to go out and eat. Their talk interrupted when they noticed the broken glass by the passenger side of the jeep. It was Locke. TC practically felt the danger as he watched Locke wander out of the car, looking confused, sounding lost. As if he were about to snap at any moment. Locke didn't even notice TC, his eyes shooting around wildly as if he only saw what he wanted to see. Drew had mentioned something about his instability, the reason he had been kicked out, but TC suddenly couldn't remember exactly what it was.

"You lied to me" was the only thing Locke could say with any clarity. The rest of his words were stammered or inaudible, made worse by sounds of rage. Mac made the mistake of trying to grab his friend's shoulder reassuringly, and the tension shifted. TC saw the shard of glass in Locke's hand and surged forward, trying to get in the way. But once again he was too late.

"Watch out," was all he had time to say.

The shard buried into Mac's stomach, a wound that could have been fatal even for a healthy person, and instantly made TC horrified. Because Mac was far from healthy. But he had no time to respond to that, Locke was moving for another hit and TC used his good arm to slam Locke's hand against the side of the jeep, pushing himself between a mortally injured Mac and the crazed man. Confused and bleeding from his hand, Locke was still immensely strong. At least he had dropped the glass, and that was probably the only good thing about the situation as TC tried to stop him. He tried to hold him back but it was like wrestling a bear, and he felt a knee dig into his side, sharply painful.

He ducked a wild punch, then lunged forward to tackle him at the waste, only for the move to ultimately fail when Locke spun and slammed him against the jeep. Pain. Sharp pain in his shoulder where Locke had grabbed him, as if already seeing the area of weakness. He writhed as fingers dug into the freshly healing muscle, his arm spasming.

He yelped in pain, then felt a surge of anger. He managed to land a punch under Locke's chest, just below the ribs, before he was thrown bodily to the ground. He winced with the landing but rolled to see Locke turning back to Mac, as if to finish the job even though Mac was already going to _die_. But Drew had heard the commotion and had reached them. He saw Drew take the confused man out with one well-aimed punch, turning to Mac who lay on the ground, blood soaking his shirt. TC stood up, back taut as he tried to hold his shoulder still and rushed forward to help. They were rushing out a gurney from the ER, but as he saw the amount of blood on the ground, and the look in Mac's eyes, he knew it was already too late. Even as he pressed down on the wound to try and stem the bleeding he knew Mac was going to die.

"What the hell happened?" Drew hissed, panic for Mac practically oozing out of him. Behind them Locke did not move, which was fortunate.

"Locke was waiting in the car. He had smashed a window and used the glass to stab him," TC said. It had all happened so fast, so suddenly. Mac hadn't even expected a threat, hadn't even thought his _friend_ would stab him. What about Locke made Mac trust him so much, even in his most wild moods? It was too late really to consider that, as the man's blood continued to flow endlessly, his body too weak from chemo to handle such an injury.

They were only able to watch Mac lose consciousness for what would be the last time, even as the gurney rolled up and others came to help.

* * *

End chapter note: I apologize to everyone who wanted Mac to live but I felt it best for this story to keep it on that path because I want to include the events of the following episode in my next chapter. Just gotta keep that whump flowing too, with a heavy dose of friendship.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: I was really excited to 'finally' get to this episode, mainly because it made me so _angry_. The protesters, the things they said to Mac's mother - man. Even though it was fictional I wanted to jump into the show and beat them up! And that emotional connection makes for good writing! (Also going to AU it a bit. Drew won't be starting the fight). (also I swear the guy's name is Locke but just in case I am hearing things whenever they say it please correct me!)

Chapter 9

* * *

The funeral was somber. The second one just that week, and he found it hard to believe Mac had died. Everyone was there, because Mac had been a part of the ER not just as a patient, but as a hero who had saved some of their own. He had died in their very parking lot, a tragic ending to a day that had been about to end on good terms. The band was a grim reminder of his own brother's funeral, the sound grating at him as though it was trying to unearth a long buried memory. But today wasn't about that. Today was about Mac, his family, and his friends. Jordan was at his side, and he could feel the grief reverberating through her. Perhaps she had not known Mac as long as some of the other people here, but he had saved her life, and she had befriended him. She had cared. He lets her lean close, her hand in his because it would be disrespectful to wrap an arm around her shoulder while Mac's family grieved and the service began to break up.

In the end he only said his condolences to Mac's mother, unable to bring up the words that he had been there, unable to stop the wound that had killed her son. TC didn't believe in fate. He didn't believe that bad things happened for a reason, that they couldn't do anything about it. A split second decision was all it would have needed, if only he had seen it coming. But that was not how the river flowed, and now they were leaving, walking out with the many veterans and soldiers who had known Mac, and others there for the service itself.

And there _they_ were.

The protesters stood in a group, vulgar signs raised as if in pride, and as soon as the small group left the doors they converged like a flock of vultures, seeing blood. People who had never served any purpose for anyone other than themselves. People with more hate in their hearts than the people they claimed were evil. TC had seen them before, fortunately not at his own brother's funeral because at that point he may have lost it, beating someone to _death_ with his own fists. But at other military funerals, for those who had died either overseas and returned for the funeral or veterans who had died after their time was served. He felt nothing but sheer disgust for them. He didn't care what they believed about soldiers, whether they believed the purpose behind the war. He didn't even believe in it, at times. But it was what they did, how they did it, screaming at the families of the dead, rubbing salt into the wounds. It was disgusting, and he felt a steady thumping of rage in his chest as they began to yell and scream, eyes bleak dots, unfeeling, uncaring, hateful.

He pulled Jordan closer, the sheer number of protesters alarming alongside the words. "Who are these clowns?" He thinks it is Scott who asks, somewhere behind him.

Jordan answers, her own anger making her words clipped. Their own group tightens up, forming a barrier between Mac's family and the wall of pure, beast-like hatred. He has to resist the urge to punch a man in the face as soon as he tries to push his way between them, shoving the protester backwards, away from Jordan, away from the family. His other arm tenses uselessly, still sore from the fight with Locke.

More people surged forward and he found himself squeezed in between Jordan and a serviceman, trying to keep his cool. Drew had made his way up to the front, hard rage set in his shoulders.

And as soon as he broke through to the front one of the protesters socked him in the jaw. _Aw shit_ , was the logical response. The other response was a fierce, almost overwhelming surge of fury. And as if the other protesters took the punch as their own reason to do the same they all began to charge forward. "Get them out of here," he snapped, pointing at the shocked and frightened family. He pushed himself between Jordan and a man as he broke through the line moving towards them, punching the man in the stomach with all his strength. He felt no mercy swirling through him now as the protester dropped down, winded.

 _He deserves it_ , TC thought. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flagpole come down like a spear in the senator's back, but people move and its blocked from his view as he's shoved with enough force to nearly fall over. Jordan's directly behind him, catching him. Scott is somewhere by Drew trying to pull Drew away from whoever had punched him. Something hit him across the chest and he coughed reflexively, then reacted and struck down hard on an arm, forcing it to drop the sign.

Hit by a sign, proclaiming God's hatred of America.

Everything was deteriorating rapidly. The cameras were aimed on the event, but the reporters themselves were not spared. A female reporter was violently shoved down, her head hitting the side of a column. TC moved carefully, head held low, keeping a hand on Jordan so she wouldn't get lost in the crowd and began to push his way through, avoiding getting hit by random movements or pushed as much as possible. "We need to get to the car," he said allowed. More servicemen had joined in to try and keep the peace and quell the fighting, but he still felt like he was trying to push his way through a fighting arena. Bumping into everyone and everything on the way out of it, he was relieved to see Drew had made it out almost unscathed. Bleeding from his nose, a bruise forming on his head and sporting a sore hand, but standing. TC winced when an elbow dug harshly into his side, moving away.

He made it to the fallen reporter who was sitting up looking dazed. "Hey, are you alright?" Jordan asked, kneeling down beside her. She looked up, eyes faraway but nodded. TC mentally decided to take her with them so she could get seen quickly. The senator was being helped into the limo, the metal base of the flagpole sticking out of his back, close to his spine. Behind them the fight was breaking up, with many injuries but nothing that looked serious.

People who devolved into a fight like animals.

They ended up having to drive straight to the hospital, with injured veterans and the senator himself. TC pressed himself into the seat trying to get more comfortable as various aches and pains made themselves known in his body. The near ever present throb in his shoulder, the new and sharp ache in his side. His chest felt sore from being hit with the sign, and he could feel the aching from the jostling around before. Drew's nose had stopped bleeding but his hand looked more like it was broken rather than swollen and he wondered what the face of the person he broke his hand on looked like. What a surprise it would be when the protester ended up in the same ER as half the people that they had been fighting with. It would be worth just seeing the look on their faces when that happened. Ambulances swept past them, heading in the direction they came. Were they going to pick up the injured there?

"We just can't take you anywhere, can we?" Jordan suddenly asked him. It was a quip, an attempt at humor to offset the uncomfortable silence that had pervaded the car.

He glared back at her in response, but it wasn't a true glare. More of a mock stare in response to her. "At least I didn't start it," the words _this time_ died on his lips. Because if it had gotten much worse before the first punch had been thrown, he very well may have. And he probably wouldn't have even regretted it. Even with the senator bleeding from a wound in his back. Well okay, maybe he would have felt a _little_ guilty. But it felt good, really, to give people like _that_ a little bit of what they deserved.

He looked at Jordan more closely, making sure she hadn't gotten hurt in the scuffle despise his best efforts. Fortunately, she seemed perfectly fine, if not a little... flustered.

Beyond her, Scott was leaning his head back on the headrest with a bruise forming around his eye. TC hadn't even seen it happen, though he couldn't really be that surprised when everything was falling apart in chaos. The reporter woman was completely out of it, just gazing out the window with her pupils a few sizes too wide, but she wasn't puking everywhere or slurring words so it wasn't too bad. Yet.

When they had finally arrived at the hospital, the senator had been carried off to his own room where they could determine the severity of it and check for any spinal damage before removing it. He and Jordan helped walk the reporter to her own gurney where she get a scan to make sure she didn't have a brain bleed, but hopefully it would just be a concussion. It had been a hard fall, so there was always the risk of something serious when it came to head injuries like that. Drew had taken off to get his hand taken care of. Scott, ignoring the advice of the nurse, followed the Senator down the hall to make sure he would be taken care of. That left TC and Jordan to congregate in the center area with everyone asking questions about what had happened, only having seen the fight on the news.

It was a few minutes later when the first ambulance pulled up, an enraged man strapped to a gurney crying about pain in his side. TC recognized the man. It was the man _he_ had hit for punching him in the jaw. He tries hard to not feel a kind of sick satisfaction when protester recognizes him and his eyes widen. He considered even for a moment going to help treat him just for kicks, but Paul is already doing so.

TC is about to go take his own patient when Jordan stops him.

"No way. I'm checking you out," she said, ignoring his whine of protest. He had only been hit a _little_ bit after all! The only remotely worrying hit was the one in his ribs because it dug right in between the bones, into the thin muscle. Not that hurt, but it wasn't technically anything to be healed.

She stared at him with those no nonsense eyes and he sighed and agreed.

Yet again he was in an exam room sitting obediently on a table, although this time he was in considerably less pain and considerably less injured. She had pulled up his shirt enough to press on _that_ spot on his side and he sucked in a harsh breath, wincing. "Hey, take it easy," he complained, before she could poke at any more bruises.

"You are the most stubborn person I've ever met," she replied.

They spoke about Mac. They spoke about Annie. They spoke about other things, unaware of the time passing, and when Topher came in to make sure they hadn't died they were both hugging each other.

* * *

End chapter note: Trying to deliver on that Jordan/TC fluff people have been asking about, but fluff isn't my strong suit. I also keep forgetting Topher IS alive in this story.. whoops? Anyway, as far as the story goes... expect a few more chapters, but don't be sad, I have another story planned to begin when I finish this one! :)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: Takes place during R3B0OT. Will contain the much needed physical therapy that I 'forgot' about. Some team humor because it needs it. Just some bits and pieces. I get more anxious about the lack of news for season 5 with each passing day. I hope for good news! The first half of this was written in the aftermath of a migraine. Hopefully it is normal. Also not including Amura in this fic or the Amura plotline because... I don't like it.

Chapter 10

* * *

TC officially hated stretch bands. Combining physical strength in sore shoulder with motion in said shoulder was just simply miserable. It sent a series of pains in the general area that spread down his arm, and throbbed into his chest. He had much more motion in his shoulder now, and was almost able to move it completely with just a few halts, but he still lacked a lot of strength. Which is why Drew had suggested a stretch band. A suggestion he wished he had ignored. He had only been working at it for ten minutes, and his arm just wanted to fall off. The other was alright, seemingly laughing at the weak arm in its good ability. He had started small, with the least resistance, but even that one was proving to be too much work for the sore joint. It would have helped if he had not gotten it re-injured during the fight with Locke, and he was sure if that had not happened he'd be doing great by now. But unfortunately that had set back because of inflammation. He couldn't wait to get full motion back, and full strength, so he could get back to doing what he wanted to do.

That said, he was finally back on duty as an actual doctor, although with strict orders from Jordan that he was to be cautious. It was miles better than doing paperwork and sitting at a desk in utter boredom for the entire night, and he looked forward to taking on his first shift since he had gotten back. He checked the time, seeing he didn't have too much time left before he needed to head in. On the gym equipment he could see Drew beating the life out of a punching bag.

 _Show off,_ he thought. Kenny, who was back to full health after his minor spinal swelling from the incident was also there.

TC was rescued by a phone call, needing no other excuse to put down the _torture_ band. It was Jordan, and he wasted no time in answering. Other hospitals owned by Cummings were experiencing technical issues, and they weren't sure why. At that news, they all went in early just in case things began to act up in their own ER, with strange things beginning even before the shift began. TC walked past Rick in the parking lot, who stopped to talk to Drew. He overhead a little bit about a raid they would be doing on some drug dealers. TC frowned. SWAT was good but there was always a risk that went along with the job, and he had seen many officers after a raid gone wrong end up in this very hospital. And if it went right then usually someone on the _other_ end of the justice cycle ended up their anyway.

TC walked into Shannon mouthing off to a patient - _already!_ He liked her. He really did. A sense of humor on the job and some tough skin went a long way, but sometimes she went a little overboard.

"Hey, don't snap their heads off," he said lightly when her patient had left, and Shannon turned to give him that look that he swear she had taken from Jordan. There was real anger blazing in her eyes though, and he wondered what someone had done to piss her off.

"Have you seen the performance review Jordan wrote about me?" Was what she said.

How did those get out in the open? "Uh, no," he said. "It can't be that bad, can it?" He asked. He had never really cared to look at his own reviews. It didn't personally matter to him what his superiors had thought of him, or whether or not they liked him. Most of them hadn't, of course, but it had never reflected back on him in any way. Sure, a few threats of being fired, a suspension here or there - but nothing permanent came from them. Because in the end he saved more patients with his 'cowboy antics' as people tended to call them than he lost. Clearly, Shannon did not share the same sentiment as him, but it didn't help that she was friends with Jordan and probably took her words more personally than she should.

"She said," Shannon began furiously swiping at her phone in the middle of the hallway while TC stood there awkwardly trying to ward off what would become immense rage. "I take my emotions out on my patients and I say things that are _inappropriate_. Can you believe it?" She said, still swiping at her phone as she tried to pull up the review from wherever it had been posted. Judging from the wait, it was not loading.

"Uh." Was his intelligent reply. _I should lie,_ he thought, as she raised furious eyes to him. Her eyes flickered past him before he had managed to say anything else.

"Jordan!" She yelled, and he side stepped the purple-haired woman as she stormed across the floor to Jordan who had just walked around the corner, talking on the phone.

TC decided it would be best if he was somewhere else, and he quickly slipped into the nurse's area to go through patient files so he could determine which patient to take on first. It wasn't long after he had started on his patient, a young woman with a swollen neck when he heard a commotion outside the exam room. The monitors had been freaking out a few moments ago, turning on and off randomly despite not being used. Something must be going on with the electrical circuits.

"Excuse me for a moment," TC said to the lady who nodded and resumed looking down at her phone.

Stepping out he walked into the Twilight Zone... at least, in his opinion. The printer was shooting paper out all directions, all the computers were flickering and acting up. The TV turned itself off and on and alarms were going off all across the ER. He moved over to Cain who was trying to stop the paper from flying out, just as Jordan came out. "What's going on?" She asked, looking around at all the commotion. "One of the defibrillators was shocking a patient by itself," she added, nodding back at an exam room.

"I'm not sure, it just starting doing.. this," Cain said, giving up the fruitless task.

A moment later all of the computer screens stopped flickering and displayed a cartoonish skull, with the stereotypical maniacal laughter. With a sinking feeling TC realized their problem was probably a bit more complex than just technical issues.

While a technician was called he went back to his patient since there was nothing he could do about being hacked. He wasn't a computer expert by any means. Everyone had been given the warning to try not to use anything connected to the main system, so he was going to have to do without, which wouldn't pose too much of an issue. Unfortunately it meant trying to get any lab testing done would have to wait and if she had a serious infection that could be dangerous to her health. Although he suspected, since the swelling was her _only_ symptom, not coupled with pain or even an itchy throat, that the lymph nodes were swollen because of irritation, and not a bacteria. He was explaining this to her and feeling for any masses in her neck when the lights went out.

 _This day just keeps getting better,_ he thought, sighing. "I'm sorry about that, we're experiencing some technical problems. The backups should be on in a few moments," he said, only to hear outside the door a moment later people shouting that the backups weren't turning on and they weren't sure why. "Okay, I'll just get a light."

It wasn't too different from working out in the field away from technology, something he was at least familiar with.

But it brought up a question he found very important to know. Why was someone hacking a _hospital_ of all places? They were directly threatening the lives of every sick or injured person inside, for what? A kind of sick game? A superiority complex in which they could claim they _did_ it? If any critical patient or emergency came in they would not even be equipped to deal with it, and if something went terribly wrong with any of their current patients then it could be an avoidable death or serious injury. TC couldn't really comprehend who would do it but people had done crazier things before and he wasn't exactly unfamiliar with how heartless people can be.

With nothing else to check for her sent his patient home with some precautionary medication and strict orders to return if it get worse or any new symptoms were present. He then decided to head out and see what was going on with the rest of the ER. Aside from Mrs. Frailey, most of the patients were cleared to leave which was good news for them. All incomings were being diverted to other hospitals.

The technician, a short, rounded nerd-like man came in and was working at the mainframe trying to fix the problem when Jordan reappeared warning everyone to use only O- blood because the blood matches were all incorrect.

She turned her attention to the tech, who was typing at furious speeds that not even TC would be able to come up with even on his best days. "I figured out how they got in," the tech was saying, and he came closer, near Cain who trying to clean up a spill. "A nurse had downloaded a pirated copy of candy crush from an unsafe website and it waited in the system."

He heard Cain whisper off to his left "they can do that?"

TC was inclined to agree. He wasn't technologically inept or anything. He used computers and tablets and smartphones like everyone else. But the idea that someone could hack an entire system through a downloaded game? Now that was something he had never heard of. He'd have to remember not to download anything off the Internet after this.

"How soon can we get back online?" Jordan asked, clearly not interested in the techno mumbo jumbo the tech was currently babbling about between gulps of an energy drink.

"I don't know. Even the backup is corrupted."

The conversation was interrupted by the doors slamming open as paramedics wheeled in a man surrounded by many SWAT members including Rick. Gwen looked around confused at the dark ER illuminated only by stand lights from the firetrucks. "What happened here?" She asked.

Jordan approached. "What are you doing here? We don't have power, all emergencies were supposed to be diverted."

TC ran up to the gurney, seeing one of the members of the SWAT team. A wound in his throat in which had been used as a direct breathing tube, and also an open injury in his side. His face was a few shades too pale, and he looked barely conscious. TC tuned out what was going on around him and looked at Rick, who was hanging onto the side of the gurney looking horrified. "What happened?" Raid gone wrong, obviously. But he didn't know the details of the injuries. Had he been shot?

"They had the door rigged with explosives, and he was breaching. They fired on us and I think he got hit," Rick said.

They didn't have access to a lot of equipment but surgery in the dark wasn't impossible. He had done it before, and he would do it now. And by the time they had pulled the wooden splinter from the man's pancreas, the lights suddenly kicked back on.

* * *

End chapter note: The final chapter won't be as long as the others as it will just be a wrap up! Since I already have an AU version of the next episode I wasn't sure I wanted to write another version... so basically will be ending in the next chapter with a healed shoulder and some niceties before starting the next story. I'll give some information about that at the end!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own The Night Shift.

Note: I am going to leave my... rant... at the end of this short finale chapter. Along with some information about my next fictions to post. I'm basically calling this an epilogue though since it's short. I kind of want to let this fiction go peacefully rather than make a long-winded chapter all to the same goal.

Epilogue

* * *

The last few months had been tumultuous. Bombings and shootings, injuries that sent him home. The hospital itself had been changed, moving to new ownership, with new ideas which almost no one agreed with. Topher remained in the ER and Jordan kept her position. Drew and Rick had Brianna and at long last were a family, no longer hidden in the shadows of fear of getting thrust out into the open. Annie and Mac's death still weighed heavily on people's minds, and so did the events following them. The fight, the hacking of the ER. So many things had changed but they were still going strong, standing firm as San Antonio's hospital.

And as for TC, he at long last achieved full use of his shoulder. No more pains were bothering him, and he could get full range of motion with it. In the end it felt as though fate itself had thrown everything at them trying to block their path, but in the end they still powered through it. After the shift, the entire crew had gone off to the bar just to recollect. Even Molly, who never frequented the bar with them, had turned up. TC hadn't been here since after Annie's funeral, and it felt quite strange to be back, even though it was for a much different reason. Here it wasn't to mourn a loss or drown sorrows, but to celebrate a victory. After all the set backs, the crew was still there. Still together. Yet again he was sitting at the bar, drinking a single glass with Jordan and Topher, and this time, also with Drew and Rick who had joined them. Down at a table Paul and Kenny and Cain were hanging out after a plate of nachos.

Peace, in the aftermath of troubles.

Afterwards Jordan pulled him aside, a look on her face that was immediately worrying, as if she was about to drop a bombshell on their celebratory evening. In a way it was a bombshell, but this time, not a bad one.

"With everything that's happened, I'm glad you're here," she said, in a tone he had not heard since they had been together. TC felt a surge of hope in his chest. It had never really felt right, being apart. Even though he had understood - after some time - why, it still felt wrong. Sure they had been friends for a long time, but he had a care for her that was stronger than it was for most friends. A need to take care of, to make happy, to protect from harm or hurt. And having seen the way things had gone, perhaps it was mutual.

"I'm glad to be here too," he said, meaning it. He never wanted to leave again.

"I know things didn't end on a good note, but I always wished it would have gone differently. Maybe it will this time." Somewhere across the room a table erupted into chairs when a touchdown was scored, and they were barely aware of it.

"I'm willing to try," he said. Change was hard, but it did eventually come around.

And he was never happier to be home.

 **end**

* * *

End chapter note: Was this corny? Please let me know if it was. I'm not good with fluff but I try. I wouldn't be surprised if they would go back together... if having been given a chance. I'm also really happy people enjoyed this fic. I never actually planned on it getting so many chapters!

End series rant: In case you are from the future and are reading this and get confused, I'll just say I just read the news that The Night Shift was canceled. I don't think I have the words to describe how disappointed that made me, how ridiculous I feel their decision was. It's a very rare occasion that I find a TV series I really enjoy (usually my interest is in movies). The last series I actually stayed up to watch and made sure to view each week was Grimm, and not even THAT being canceled is as disappointing to me as The Night Shift since they actually had a good number of episodes. I want to be optimistic and wish another network or even Netflix would pick it up but I'm not _that_ hopeful. It's shameful that they give a good show so few episodes compared to other series and - even though they wree good episodes, don't get me wrong - cancel them. Ah well, I'll end it there... just severely disappointed in NBC (once again).

Future Fictions: I would like to note here that I did make a forum for this fanfiction page where people can discuss stuff and post prompts. Feel free to check it out, especially now! Anyway, about the future plans. I plan on a separate story that will be stand alone. It will involve a car, whump, and mostly just Drew and TC because I like their friendship. Second, I am considering making a collection of one-shots (instead of posting a billion separate ones) mainly featuring more whump. So basically, expect whump in the future!

And as always, thank you all for reading and for your helpful comments! I hope to see some other fanfictions pouring in now to support the show.


End file.
